


leave a light on

by impossiblepluto



Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-11-08
Packaged: 2021-01-15 12:17:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21253277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impossiblepluto/pseuds/impossiblepluto
Summary: Team Improvise is learning to live with an on-going nightmare





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Nonny-friend who sent me something... maybe a month ago [i think tumblr ate your ask]. I had very good intentions... but i did a very bad, angsty [unfinished] thing...

Jack isn’t sure the last time he slept. 

He’s pretty sure he fell asleep for a few hours on Mac’s couch two nights ago. Maybe three. He doesn’t think he’d be functioning as well as he is right now if it was longer than four. 

Matty sends him home every night, begging him to get some rest. Threatening to bench him if he doesn’t. And he complies with the spirit of her words. Instead of haunting The Phoenix at all hours of the day or night, he does drive himself home. The emptiness of the apartment, silent as a tomb even with Die Hard shaking the speakers, is unbearable. 

Around two in the morning he gives up, and drives blurry eyed over to Mac’s and lets himself in the front door. It’s not the first time Mac suddenly gained a middle of the night roommate crashing on the couch. He resists the urge to check Mac’s bedroom, hoping, praying that he will find the kid bundled under so many blankets that Jack worries they’ll crush him, sound asleep. But the door is closed, and he doesn’t want to be disappointed.

Jack groans as he lowers himself onto the couch. Mac might not sleep well, but damn if he doesn’t have comfortable furniture for making the attempt.

Jack pinches the bridge of his nose, thumb and forefinger digging into his gritty eyes. The headache that he’s claimed for days is only just brewing, has been pulsing for about twelve hours. Stress and lack of sleep. Matty’s right, he’s off his game. 

It’s not that he hasn’t tried to sleep. The few times he’s managed to calm his racing heart, ignore the ache in his chest and close his eyes he’s bolted awake moments later, hearing the kid screaming for help. Screaming his name. Asking Jack to come for him. 

Those middle of the night terrors leave him shaking. 

Something needs to give, needs to break soon, because despite his promises to Mac, Jack can’t keep up in this. Jack will be what breaks.

He eats whatever is put in front of him, because Bozer insists his diet can’t subsist of black coffee and vending machine raids. He’ll punch a hole in his gut from stress and the acidic bitter brew. Everything is tasteless, but he chokes down meals that he doesn’t remember eating, for Bozer. For Mac. 

He follows up on every lead, any piece of evidence that comes through the Phoenix servers. No clue too ridiculous. No witness corroboration too outlandish. Crossing the globe no matter how much of a long shot. Oddly enough, he gets his best rest on those plane rides. The hypnotic white noise of the jet’s engines loud enough to drown out his thoughts and his fears that this is what will break him. 

He’s heard of desperate parents putting their kids in the car, driving them around until they fall asleep. He doesn’t think he’ll be able to get Matty to sign off on using the Phoenix jet for rocking haggard agents to sleep. 

It won’t be long before he collapses. He won’t be able to stop it when his body decides it has had enough, and puts him down. 

Traitor.

He sees the fear in Riley’s eyes. Heard it in her voice when she called him in the pre-dawn hours. The hope that she woke him. The discouragement when she realizes his sleep-rough voice is now just his voice. 

The reluctance to share the hit her computer spat out at her. 

A blast of cold air hits Jack in the face when he opens the door. He purposefully chooses to ignore the shivers caressing his spine, vibrating in his shoulders. It’s not a harbinger of defeat, just a building with the air conditioner set too high, even for Southern California. 

Stepping into the cool building, eyes adjusting slowly from the bright sunshine to the dim, flickering fluorescent. Because, of course, the bulbs would flicker and hum. The smell of chemicals assault his nose and his headache grows.

He walks up to the desk, introducing himself to the young technician in scrubs and a lab coat. “Jack Dalton.”

He ignores the man’s dark eyes. There’s sympathy buried in them. He’s not here for sympathy. He wants revenge and retribution.

The tech nods, recognizing Jack’s name. There are few reasons why a civilian walks through those doors. None of them good. He grabs a clipboard and asks Jack to follow.

Jack feels hyperaware. He couldn’t tell you what color the walls were, hazy and dream-like, but he knows how many times his footsteps clicked on the linoleum hallway. The lights humming louder the deeper they walk into the building, Casting as many shadows as they illuminate. An augur of gloom. 

Jack is freezing. It has nothing to do with the air conditioning. 

Mac should be walking next to him, teasing him about his overactive imagination conjuring morbid omens. Geeking out about his favorite physicist and his cat. Jack should be mispronouncing Schrodinger’s name, keeping Mac occupied, thinking about anything else than what lies at the end of this hall. 

Or maybe, Mac brought up that dumb cat to give Jack something to talk about. 

Then they should have a long chat about picking appropriate conversation topics, because his selection could use some improvements. Jack doesn’t want to think about a cat existing in limbo. Either decaying in that box, or terrified and trapped until someone opens it and releases him from that purgatory. 

Jack wonders if this is Schrodinger’s hallway, existing as both too long and too short. He’ll bring that idea up to Mac as soon as he can, launching him into a rambling discussion of how the theory works, and maybe Mac’s voice will work for him like Jack’s voice works for Mac, slowing his racing thoughts and calming rattled nerves.

The tech leads him into a room of chrome and metal. It’s clean, sterile, and Jack tries to ignore the gleaming tables and the discolored stains leading to a drain on the floor. 

The tech stops in front of the back wall and consults his clipboard again, verifying he has the right case. The experience is traumatic enough, best to get it right the first time. 

There are too many little doors on that wall. Holding too many lives. Jack wonders how many of them exist in oblivion until someone comes to release them from the nether world. 

The tech pulls the door open and for the second time in a few minutes another cool puff of air ghosts across Jack’s skin. 

Rumbling of metal on metal as the slab slides out of the drawer. A sheet covered figure on the table. 

Jack locks his knees.

“Do you need a minute?” The tech asks, watching Jack’s face for the impending need for a chair and a glass of water. 

It’s not the first time he’s been here. That thought doesn’t provide him much comfort. Because now, the odds stacked against them. Eventually, the house always wins.

He thinks it might be better to wait in the torment of the unknown than have confirmation either way. 

But Schrodinger and Mac and that cat are waiting for him. 

So, Jack shakes his head, his voice hoarse. "Show me."

The tech reaches for the hem of the sheet, grasping it firmly, slowly peeling it back to reveal the still form underneath.

Jack holds his breath. Blond hair becomes visible first. Shaggy and soft. Long, falling over the man’s forehead.

He forces his eyes lower, down to the face, badly burned on the right side. Melted and scared. Twisted in terror. 

Jack’s heart stutters. Fluttering in his chest and skipping more beats than he thinks is healthy. His vision goes gray. As his eyes start to roll, they drift onto the left side of the kid’s face. 

Unmarred skin.

Jack expels his breath in a rush. His knees weak, and his hand grips the cool metal table. 

"That's not him."

"You're sure?"

"That's not MacGyver."

“Okay,” the tech’s voice is far away as he covers the John Doe again, sliding the drawer back into place. 

Jack vaguely remembers stumbling with blurry eyes back down the corridor, bursting out of the building into the sunshine that makes the world shimmer. He drops his keys getting into the car, but he doesn’t remember sticking the key in the ignition, putting it into drive or pulling onto the expressway. 

He’s miles down the road when he stops shaking. When his breath stops coming in painful too fast gasps. Shallow, because it feels like there’s a hand squeezing the life out of his chest.

He becomes aware of his surroundings enough to realize he’s in no condition to keep driving and pulls off the road at the next rest stop. 

There’s a steady prickling behind his eyes and he squeezes them shut. 

He has no concept of time as he sits in the parking lot. Families and semi-trucks rumble through, passing by, only a quick stop before continuing onto their destinations.

The Shelby in the back corner under a tree doesn’t move. 

“This is my fault, hoss. I should have handled this differently from the start,” he says out loud, his own voice startling him. Staring with unseeing eyes out the windshield. 

“I don’t know what I would have done, if it had been you under that sheet,” Jack presses his lips tightly together. “I thought… I was so scared it was gonna be you.” He swallows hard. “I had to look twice. The blond hair. The burns. It could have been you.”

A painful sob chokes him.

“But I don’t know what to do now. You’ve been missing for so long. I have called in every favor. I have run down every lead. I’ve got people looking for you on every continent. There’s not even a whisper. It’s like you don’t even exist.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place shortly after Mac's return to the Phoenix in the third season premiere with minor tweaks (Jack knew where Mac was the whole time and Jill lives)

_ Several Weeks Earlier_  
September 2018  


Some days are filled with explosions and gunshots. Running toward what others would flee. Chasing monsters that exist only in nightmares. Hearts pounding with adrenaline and exertion.

Some are stopping bombs, the numbers ticking lower, disarming the explosive with seconds on the clock, and bubbling of relieved laughter after surviving what was meant to kill.

Betrayals make for memorable days. Hard-won trust destroyed in a moment of dishonesty or a lifetime of deception, leaving behind caustic loss and aching disbelief. 

Bad intel that leaves agents facing their own mortality.

Fascinating missions make for eventful recalls, becoming more fanciful with each elaborate retelling. 

The team’s unconventional missions, ridiculous luck, and improbable improvising make even the stories of their easy days sound just as outlandish; enduring entries in storytime around the firepit. 

There is nothing about today that should live on in infamy. 

The mission was average. Not interesting, not boring, in a way that should fade from memory, lost with the passage of time. The intel accurate enough to put them in the right place at the right time without too much effort, physically or mentally. The investigation went smoothly.

It was a day that should get lost in the shuffle of the daily grind. 

“Are you almost done?” Jack asks spinning in the office chair where he parked himself after he cleaned and secured his unfired weapons from their latest mission. As meticulous about their care as he is in Mac’s. 

Mac glances up from the screen where he’s frowning at his After Action Report. He quirks an eyebrow in disbelief, “You’re already finished? Weapons secured and reports submitted?” 

“Of course,” Jack says, stopping the chair, pausing for a moment before spinning it in the other direction. 

Mac shakes his head.

“What? You don’t believe me?”

“I just don’t want to hear about it when you have to spend a day rewriting all your reports again because Matty says they’re inconclusive.”

“First of all, that happened like once, and those reports were from like twenty years ago.”

“When you were still using hieroglyphics instead of words?”

“It is too close to,” Jack glances around the lab and whispers, “Cairo day to be joking around about that.”

“That’s like months away.”

“And second, your reports need all the chemical formulas and theories you used to stop the sulfuric acid leak. I can just say Mac scienced the shit out of it and be done with it."

“So, you just plagiarize your reports.”

“Is it stealing if you steal from the best?”

“Yeah, actually it is.”

“You’re just jealous you didn’t think of it first.”

“No, because I don’t want to spend weeks rewriting AARs that are, what did Matty call them? Too colorful?”

“She should just be grateful that she isn’t stuck reading boring black and white reports all day long. Mine are at least interesting.”

“And mine are accurate.”

“It ain’t my fault that some of the stuff you do looks like movie magic, hoss,” Jack says, standing up from the spinning chair and swaying ever so slightly as he regains his equilibrium. “And some of those reports, they read like a movie script, man. Bozer should try using those for his next cinematic masterpiece. Oh, we could take a page from Andy Weir and do The Mac-Martian.” 

“Literally take a page, huh?” Mac asks. “Because that’s already been done.”

“Yeah, but we’d do it the Mac way, which, no offense to the Mark way, I’d trust you a little more.”

Mac can’t help the smile that twitches on his lips. It eases the ache that’s been in his chest the last few months.

“You’ve thought about it!” Jack exclaims gleefully. Delighted by the shy smile on Mac’s face. Things have been different of late, since Mac’s reluctant return to the Phoenix, before that too, if he’s being honest. This gentle teasing is like a healing balm over the rough edges of their friendship. The banter though, is the easy part. 

“I may have done a little research,” Mac admits, slowly, reluctantly, knowing he’s not going to hear the end of this conversation for months. “Just to see what kind of modifications I’d make. What my options would be.”

“I knew you couldn’t resist.”

“And I wanted to test out some of the science that I wasn’t sure could be trusted.”

“Shh,” Jack shushes, sticking his fingers in his ears. “Why can’t you just enjoy it. Why you gotta tell me all the reasons why it couldn’t really happen?”

“Like these reports,” Mac gestures to his computer screen. “Accuracy is important.”

“This is why, when they do make a movie about us, because eventually, word of our adventures is going to leak, and the people are going to demand to know more about us, you aren’t going to be the favorite, because you suck the fun out of it.”

“First of all, I would most definitely be the favorite. Smart, cute and the obvious choice for the lead. And second, it doesn’t matter because everything we do is classified so there’s no chance that Bruce Willis will play you in a screen adaptation.” 

"You're just jealous cause my man Bruce would definitely be playing me."

"Would he though? Would Bruce waste his time on a supporting character?" Mac baits him.

Jack sputter. "Supporting character? Aw, hell no brother. It would be an epic buddy cop type movie and we would share the lead, fifty-fifty.”

Mac shakes his head, and half rolls his eyes. “As much as I'd love to continue debating our non-existent movie deals--”

“Changing the topic because you know you can’t win,” Jack gloats.

Mac ignores the jab. “You don't have to sit around and wait for me."

"I thought you were just slow as a bomb nerd, I didn't realize that also applied to your paperwork."

“I would be done if I wasn’t arguing with you.”

“Sure, blame me, the loveable partner and comic relief.”

Mac rolls his eyes. “But after I finish them, I do have a few think-tank projects that I wanted to check on before heading out.”

"I can order a pizza. Ooh, you could project Die Hard onto the wall of the lab again.”

Mac glances down at his watch. “If you left now, you might beat the traffic. It would almost be like having a normal life with a nine to five. You should take advantage of that.”

Jack wavers. It is appealing, the idea of leaving the Phoenix early and pretending that he really is a bathroom tile salesman with normal hours. He can't remember the last time that happened. Before Mac left. Before Mac-Daddy entered the picture. 

That would make today memorable. Getting out at a reasonable time, on a Friday night. 

Plus, he’s getting the feeling that Mac needs some alone time. 

Jack has to remind himself that the kid needs time to recharge. That despite his reluctant admittance that Jack’s steady chatter helps him think sometimes, he still needs moments of quiet inside his brain to work through his problems. 

It’s a balance that even after all of these years, Jack sometimes has difficulty getting right. 

And there is something preying on Mac’s mind. Something he hasn’t worked through yet, creasing his eyebrows in a way that’s going to give him a permanent wrinkle in the middle of his forehead. For all of Jack’s quiet rambling, it’s not easing that furrow. Maybe it’s time to give him a little space. 

"You'll get yourself something to eat?" Jack interrogates, like he doesn't quite trust Mac. Which to be fair, Mac has gotten caught up in the lab and forgotten a meal or two on more than one occasion. 

"Promise," Mac agrees.

Jack stands, heading for the door. "And I don't want to hear about how you were here til all hours of the night."

"Just going to check on some projects, then head out."

"And no more robots." Jack pauses at the doorway and looks back at Mac, already engrossed in his report again, eyes scanning the screen, rereading the words to make sure he hasn’t forgotten anything. As if he could. Kid’s got an eidetic memory. 

"Would you get out of here?" Mac looks up with a bemused smile at Jack’s reluctance to leave. “I’ll call you if I need anything.”

Jack points two fingers at his eyes, then turns them around gesturing towards Mac with a teasing grin. He gives a half wave as he strides out the door. 

True to his word Mac checks on his projects. Tweaks some plans and schematics, and is heading out just over an hour later. He makes small talk with Jill in the elevator. Walks her to her car and wishes her a good night.

The sun is setting on what really is a forgettable day.

Until Mac walks out of the Phoenix and disappears without a trace.

* * *

It takes longer than anyone wants to admit for them to recognize that Mac is missing. A series of perfect storm events. Regardless of any outcome, Jack knows that will haunt him for the rest of his life. 

Despite the stories of escapades he plans on regaling to Mac about his exciting Friday night, he picked up some favorite take out food, shared it with his elderly neighbors, Otis and Olivia, and helped them change a lightbulb they couldn’t reach before calling it an early night. 

He stayed in his bed later than he’s ever stayed while alone, enjoying the fine not-Egyptian cotton sheets. After so many years of Army barracks, crash pads, and no-tell motels, Jack splurges on bedding and pillows. Not that he gets to enjoy the luxury often enough for the price tag it carries. 

A strenuous, sweaty workout, a steamy shower, and a series of chores and errands keep him busy most of the day, catching up on the boring household tasks that fall to the wayside. After a day of dodging bullets, it’s hard to go home, pull off a bloody t-shirt and then scrub the toilet. So it’s Saturday evening before Jack shows up at the empty MacGyver-Bozer residence. 

He feels a little guilty about that, leaving Mac to his thoughts and his own devices all day when he knows there was something bugging him. But Mac promised he’d call. And Jack is working on trusting him to ask for help when he needs it, and not panicking that he’s going to quit the Phoenix and disappear without a trace again.

He crosses off all the tasks of his self-written “honey do” list before he allows his conscience to chase him over to Mac’s house. He lets himself in, calling out to see if either roommate is around. Finding no one, he pulls out his phone as he starts rummaging through the kitchen. 

After several rings, it clicks over to voicemail. 

"Hey kid, I'm at your place," Jack says, holding the phone between his ear and shoulder as he pulls open the fridge. "Shoot me a text though, if you're bringing a date back here and I'll make like a tree. Don't want to cramp your style."

Grabbing a beer he wanders out onto the deck, not at all opposed to making himself at home. For all intents and purposes, this is his home too. He spends more time here than at his apartment. And more time in the guest bed than his own. He should bring those high threadcount sheets over here. He’d probably get more use out of them. 

Still too early to light a fire, Jack settles into a chair, relaxing, watching the sun dip lower on the horizon and the first lights of the cityscape start to twinkle. 

Jack hears a car pull into the driveway, and a moment later the front door opens. Bozer, arms laden with groceries makes his way into the kitchen. 

Spotting Jack he calls out, “oh good! You guys are back. Hope you haven’t eaten yet because I just got a new recipe for a fancy taco. It’s a tangy pulled pork with Sriracha crema and pineapple salsa and I’m telling you it is going to be a flavor explosion. You will beg me to never make anything else again because nothing will compare to this!” Bozer's voice muffled from deep inside the refrigerator. 

There is a thought that niggles in the back of Jack’s mind. A tendril of… something that creeps its way down Jack’s neck. “Sounds great, Boze.” He stands, walking toward the kitchen. 

It blossoms with Bozer’s next words. “When did you guys get back?”

Jack is in the kitchen before Bozer finishes his sentence. "Bozer, when's the last time you saw Mac?"

Bozer pulls his head out of the fridge, looking up sharply, concern etched in his forehead. "Before you guys left on this last mission. Why?"

“Were you home last night?”

Bozer nods, waiting.

Jack pulls out his phone again, and like before after a few rings it goes to voicemail. “Hey, bud, can you give me a call back? I’m just wondering where you’re at. I promise I won’t be mad if you stayed at the lab too late and fell asleep there.” 

Jack immediately pulls up another number on his phone. He stares at the screen. Maybe he’s overreacting.

"Jack, what's going on?" Bozer asks, brown eyes wide with worry. 

Jack pauses, thumb poised over the connect button. He tries to convince himself that he’s overreacting, but that blossom of worry has become an invasive species and dread wells up in his chest. 

He holds up a hand to silence Bozer as he waits for the call to connect, feeling Bozer’s worried eyes boring into him. "Riley! Yeah, I'm sorry, I know… can you do me a favor? Any way you can track Mac's phone for me? … No, it's probably nothing. I'm just… checking." There's a long pause. "Why not? Can't you just boopity boop it? … Alright, alright… no, I don't know yet…. I'll call you."

Jack hangs up and walks down the hall to Mac's bedroom. 

Bozer follows close behind. "Jack, what's wrong?"

"We got back yesterday afternoon. You sure you haven't seen him?"

Bozer's eyes widen. "I didn’t get in until super late last night. And then Leanna wanted to do some daybreak pilates class on the beach. I was only here for a few hours. Sleeping for all of them. Didn’t have my eyes opened this morning when I left because it was so early, so I could have missed him.”

Mac's bedroom is a reflection of the man. His bed neatly made, and everything in its place, except the desk. The desk is disorganized chaos, filaments and wires, gears and pieces of metal that Jack can’t identify. Mac can tell you exactly where to find anything on that desk. 

Jack checks the closet, not finding the go-bag from the last mission that Mac had planned to bring home to wash and replace. 

"It doesn't look like he came back here last night." Jack sighs, and rubbed his hand over his hair. "Kid's gonna kill me if I call out the cavalry and he's just on a date that went really well."

“He’s been keeping things going with Nasha,” Bozer says shaking his head. “Even if he wasn’t, that’s not really his style.”

Jack’s hand slides down to scrub at his face. “Any science conventions he’s been nerding out over?”

“Nothing that he mentioned. What did Riley say?" Bozer asks.

"She's running a deeper search but she couldn't locate him." Jack looks around the room again, hoping for some kind of sign. 

"What does that mean?"

"I don't know man, but I've got a really bad feeling about this." Jack pulls out his phone to make a third phone call. "Matty, we might have a situation."

* * *

Jack stands in the middle of the room, taking in the half-finished projects scattered around the room. Mac’s bike in pieces in the corner, the engine disassembled. Tools, spare parts, broken appliance and paperclips twisted into elaborate designs. Turning slowly to observe all angles and corners.

Mac lost no time tearing apart the toaster as soon as he returned from Nigeria and pulling out projects Bozer had finally begun to pack away, half sure Mac would never be living in this house again. 

“I should have been here,” Bozer says after watching Jack for a few minutes.

"I don't think was grabbed here," Jack says. Despite the many projects, nothing looks disturbed. 

"That's a surprise. It seems like every super villain has a map to this house. I was kind of relieved that Mac was living somewhere else. Thought he’d be safer." The joke falls flat. It’s much too real. This is far from the first time Mac’s home has been a crime scene. Murdoc was here twice. The Ghost at least once. The LAPD even searched the house when Mac was arrested last Christmas. 

"I don't think he even made it home," Jack states. 

Bozer winces

"I left him at the Phoenix. He seemed like he needed some time. He's been moody lately. Something’s bugging him, but he hasn’t wanted to talk about it.”

"That's not an understatement," Bozer agrees. "He's been keeping weird hours, not sleeping. I can hear him up all night, puttering. But that's nothing new. That's been Mac since we were kids."

"He does his best thinking when his hands are busy," Jack says. "That's why I thought I'd let him have some time. He was going to work on some projects in his lab. I thought it would help him clear his head. That if I gave him some space to work through it he’d be ready to talk. I shouldn't have left."

"Aw, Jack, you can't be there every second."

“I could have tried harder to make him talk before I left.”

"Come on, even you can't make Mac do something if he doesn't really want to do it. Once he digs his heels in, nobody’s changing his mind.”

"I should have checked in with him last night, or even this morning. Twenty-four hours since anyone's seen him. He could be anywhere."

"You think it's Murdoc?"

"No, I think we would have heard something if it was Murdoc. This isn't his style, too quiet. And the only 'fader' we've come across is recently deceased, thanks to Murdoc." Jack runs his hand over his bristly hair. "The list is too big though. The Ghost, El Nacho, Harper Hayes, even Patty."

"I hadn't really thought about it before. I knew about Murdoc and The Ghost, but every person Mac's ever put away would probably be gunning for him if they had the chance." Bozer says eyes widening. He sits heavily on the sofa.

"That list doesn't even take into account crimes of opportunity or someone who just wanted to grab a Phoenix agent--" Jack's voice breaks off, a curious look on his face.

"What is it?"

"Nah, I just," Jack shakes his head. "MacGyver Sr. coming back in the picture. He's got enemies too."

Jack hears several vehicles pull into the driveway. He looks out the window. 

"Crime lab's here." He announces, watching the technicians unpack their equipment. He hates that they’re here, for the obvious reason that Mac’s missing, but also, all of these people, strangers, pawing through Mac’s stuff. Analyzing his life. Reducing his friend to evidence, assumptions and theories. 

"I'm going to head into the Phoenix. Check out the lab. See if Riley's made any progress," Jack says, watching the investigators work their way up the front walk, already searching for evidence. In another life, he could understand the appeal of the job.

"I'll come with," Bozer offers.

"No, you should stick around here. When they're confused by some of his stuff you can help identify what’s out of place or explain what is just Mac being Mac."


End file.
